


Time Alone

by calamityjo



Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Breathplay, Caning, Choking, Cutting, Dismemberment, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Self-Harm, cock and ball torture, collectkin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamityjo/pseuds/calamityjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While alone in his trunk, Arkin thinks about revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time Alone

In the far too rare moments that Arkin was left alone in his little room inside his little trunk, he would reopen the cuts on his arm. Originally, he did this to make sure they would leave scars, so he'd never forget the way back to this horrible place. He could lead the police right to him if he ever got out.

Later, it became a soothing ritual. No matter what had been done to him or what he was forced through or how badly he was hurt. It was strangely comforting to drag a fingernail over a cut and reopen it. As far as he knew the man didn't know about the cuts, he could keep them hidden under what was left of his shirt. He was always covered in layers of dirt and blood, what was a few more bloodstains on a black shirt?

As time went on, he found himself thinking about what he'd do if he escaped as he reopened the wounds. A hospital was a given but what would he do after that? His mind began to wander to the masked man. To thoughts of lashing out and hurting him.

He hissed through his teeth as a sudden and surprisingly pleasing image came to his mind. His fingernail dug in deeper in response. He would take the man and hang him by hooks just like he did to him. He'd tear his mask from him and make him look at him. Yes, he needed to _know_. He needed to know exactly how badly he hurt him and _know_ the same thing will be done to him. And Arkin needed to see his face twisted in pain.

He moved to the next cut. The fingernail dug in deep and Arkin shuddered with the wave of dull pain. He'd make him scream. He'd find a way to make him beg. That asshole never speaks but he'll make him. He'll--

His stomach twisted as he realized he's gotten hard. He pulled his hand away from his arm as if he'd been burned.

Is _this_ what he's become? He thumped against the confines of the trunk in frustration then again to slam all his body weight to one side. The trunk toppled obligingly to its side. Just as well, Arkin thought, it was easier to sleep when it wasn't upright.

A heavy thud came against the side of the trunk. No... he had been _alone._ He was alone in-- Another thud.

Arkin froze in place, an irrational feeling of shame washed over him. His heart racing, his mind invaded by thoughts of the man watching the red trunk while he was...

The darkness was penetrated by a sudden bright light of the trunk being opened. “No!” a pointless desperate plea as he was hauled from the trunk. Weight fell on his chest, the man's knee pinning him to the ground. He struggled with what strength he had left but fell still when he felt the cold metal of a knife pressed against his throat.

Maybe this was it? Maybe this is how he would kill him. Maybe it would all be over. He tilted his head back to bare his neck. “Do it,” Arkin dared in voice that sounded alien to his own ears. The knife shifted like the man was tempted but nothing happened. “Do it!” he demanded but was only met with a gentle shushing. When he dared to open his eyes seconds later the reflective eyes were startlingly close.

Arkin tried to reason out what was going on. What did he pull him from the trunk for? Did he know what he was doing in there?

The knife retreated from his neck to be replaced by a hand. The grip was firm, choking but not a complete cut off of his airway. It was enough to force him into gasping and struggling for what air he could get. The man shifted his weight forward, using his weight to force the remaining air out of Arkin's lungs.

His vision went dark as he tried to cling to consciousness. The last sound he was aware of was the gentle shushing sound from the man.


	2. Not so Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Collector finds the marks on Arkin's arm and Arkin discovers something about himself.

The next sound Arkin was aware of was that of rain. The feeling of droplets hitting his skin and soaking his clothes. It felt _good_. Layers of filth and blood washing away. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be clean.

He was jolted into full consciousness by a hand running through his hair. A sickening thought lit off in his mind, that this wasn’t rain, it was blood. That thought was dismissed a second later when, to his shock, he realized it was not only water but he was laying on the tiled floor of an open shower. 

The masked man was there crouched over him, his hand splayed out on Arkin’s chest holding him there as his reflective eyes were intently fixed on him. They were no longer in the little room but the trunk was sitting open in the corner. Only his ankles were chained while his arms had been left free.

It was a strange moment where neither moved and the only sound was the shower spray permeated the room. A subtle flex in the masked man’s hand spurred Arkin to sudden movement. Knocking the man’s hand away as he scrambled to escape against the slick tiles.

He didn’t make it more than a few inches before the man was on him, dragging him back under the spray of the shower. In his efforts to escape, Arkin twisted out of his shirt as the man took hold of it. This time he managed to make it to the triple bolted door, he slammed bodily into it but it didn’t budge. He clawed at the locks next but it was a wasted effort. The man knew Arkin could pick locks and made certain any bits of metal where clear of any room he had him in. The shower room was bare of anything of use, the only way out of that room was by the keys on the man’s belt.

Knowing this, the masked man didn’t pursue him to the door. Arkin chanced a glance back to see him standing with his head cocked curiously to the side. He was looking at something. It took a moment for Arkin to realize just what he was looking at. His arm, specially, the cuts on it. Half reopened and bleeding is ghostly trails down his arm. The man’s reflective eyes studied them from the distance then flicked up to focus on Arkin.

“Shit--” 

In an instant the man closed the gap, pinned Arkin against the door by his throat and drew the cut arm taut for inspection.

 _This is it,_ Arkin thought, _he’ll kill me now._ It would finally be over. He just had to wait for the hand to tighten on his throat. Once again, he bared his throat, ready to let it happen. While the man’s hand did tighten in response it was not the crushing grip Arkin expected. Again, his airway was not completely cut off but merely restricted. Forced to gasp helplessly as the man continued his inspection of his arm. 

Arkin felt a sudden sharp sting on his arm, which forced him to focus on the masked man. To his surprise he saw pink tongue protruding from the mask and tracing the line of one of the cuts. His mind refused to believe what he saw while his body felt it vividly. He couldn’t help a shiver that ran through him and prompted him back into struggling. There is no way he would let himself enjoy any of this. 

He tried to curse and threaten but the hand at his neck just tightened. He was left to gasp helplessly for air. Soon, the black mask and reflective eyes were mere inches from his own face. He tried to lash out with his legs then but the man simply stepped on the chain linking Arkin’s ankles. For a moment, Arkin could have sworn the face under the mask looked amused.

Just when Arkin felt his vision began to darken, his throat was released, throwing him into a fit of coughing and gasping. In a surprisingly gentle move, the hand moved from his throat to the side of his face. Bizarrely, the masked man seemed to be trying to soothe him. 

His mind and body reeling from oxygen deprivation, Arkin barely bothered to fight as the man moved him away from the wall. All he could do was mutter the word: “Please.” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for. For him to stop, to kill him, to let him go, to just leave him alone. Something.

Arkin was vaguely aware that he’d been lowered to the tiled floor. Distantly, he heard the squeak of the water being turned off. A wave of fatigue hit him and he let his eyes close. Something hard nudged his ribs, prompting him to open his eyes. Above him he saw the dark figure of the man looming over him.  
“Please...” Arkin breathed, still not knowing what he was asking.

The dark form crouched over him. A knife came into Arkin’s vision and his eyes locked on it. The man turned the blade over and over in his hand as if considering just where to start. 

Arkin felt pressure on his right wrist as the man held up his arm to inspect it once again. Arkin’s gaze shifted from the blade to his arm, following the little cuts to his wrist then to the masked face above him. Did he know what those lines meant? Did he know they’re a map? Did he know--

Those reflective eyes locked on Arkin’s. _He knows,_ Arkin thought with dread.

The man drew the flat of the blade along the length of Arkin’s arm until it settled on the first cut on his wrist. Slowly, he rotated the knife and drew the blade precisely over the first cut, drawing blood. Shocked, Arkin simply watched. He tried to understand why he was doing that. Was he trying to tell him he didn’t care? That it doesn’t matter if he has a map? 

The blade traced the next cut and drew a low hiss from Arkin. The next traced cut was... comforting? It was too much like what Arkin did to himself in the little trunk. He tried to force himself into anger, to lash out or struggle but instead he drew in a shaky breath. 

It felt good. It shouldn’t feel good. He _shouldn’t_ let it feel good. He was so tired that part of his mind wondered: what’s so bad about letting it feel good? Everything always hurts, he should let something feel good. 

The next cut brought a soft “Ah” out of him. The next cut bought a shiver. The one after bought both a gasp and the sudden realization that he was hard. He felt sick, taking pleasure from this, from what _he_ was doing to him.

Another cut and the man paused. Arkin dared to look and saw those strange reflective eyes looked... _surprised._ He would laugh if he wasn’t in such a state

One of the man’s gloved hands shifted to run down Arkin’s bare torso. Arkin twitched in response, trying to summon up the strength to fight but he felt the knife at his throat again. Part of him considered pressing into the knife and letting himself die right there but it seemed pointless. If he was going to die, he would die making this man pay for everything he’s done. For turning him into _this._ Someone who gets hard off pain.

The hand moved to the edge of Arkin’s pants. His belt had been long since lost during another session of torment. So very gently the man popped open the top button and pushed down the fabric a few inches. Arkin hissed out a breath as cool air came in contact with his heated erection. He thought, for a moment, that the man was going to touch him but no touch came. The man’s hands returned to Arkin’s arm, along with the blade.  
“What... What are you doing?” Arkin found himself asking aloud. None of this really made sense. He’s _never_ done something like this to him before. It was always pain and it was always designed to rile Arkin up. To get him cursing, threatening, ignoring his wounds and trying to escape. This was gentle by contrast. 

The blade traced a cut on his arm causing Arkin to shiver with a strange surge of pleasure. “What are you doing, man?” he groaned out.

“Shhh.”

Arkin’s cock _throbbed_ after the next cut. HIs hips raised a fraction. He shouldn’t like this, he reminded himself. He needs to fight. He _needs_ \--

“Fuck!” he blurted out with the next cut. He could already feel himself leaking pre. The man with the knife hesitated, his attention drawn back between Arkin’s legs. The man’s hand moved as if he was going to touch him but it stopped just short of contact. 

Why would he _stop?_ He never hesitated in humiliating and hurting Arkin in other ways. Why the fuck is this different? None of this made any kind of sense but Arkin found he no longer cared. He jerked his hips up and rubbed himself into the palm of the gloved hand of the man. Slowly, the hand wrapped around his dick fully. 

What followed was frantic. Somehow Arkin summoned the strength to grab a fistful of the man’s shirt and lever himself to a better angle. The hand didn’t move as Arkin thrust himself into it. At some point, Arkin found the man’s other hand supporting his back, the knife forgotten. He could hear himself whine and groan. He’s so close, he wants release, and realizes he wants the masked man to do it. That thought draws a sob out of him. He doesn’t know how he could want that but he does. 

“...please,” Arkin hears himself say.

The hand tightened, making him to choke on a moan in a mix of surprise and pleasure. 

That was what the man was waiting for. Permission.

It only took a few firm pulls from the man before Arkin came. White dripped over black gloves in place of red. Against his ear Arkin heard a gentle shushing from the man.


	3. I'll Fucking Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arkin thinks about revenge again and tries to understand what the Collector wants from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dubious consent bordering on non-con in this chapter.

Arkin awoke groggily, as if he’d been asleep for far too long. He didn’t feel right. He felt strangely _full_ and compressed at the same time. He shifted, finding the familiar walls of the trunk but he also found his wrists cuffed to a D ring embedded in the side of the trunk. This kept his hands by his head. 

He realized after a few moments that the trunk was on end and the D ring likely attached to the exterior handle in some way. He tested it with a few hard yanks but it didn’t budge. What did happen is the moment altered him to the source of that full feeling. There was something pressed up inside him. Hard, heavy and big. A moment’s panic followed, how could that freak shove something that big up his fucking ass without him waking up?!

The answer found him a second later, a needle in his arm with a tube extending out a small hole in the side of the trunk. He’d been drugged. 

This also explained the gag. He didn’t want him using his mouth to pull out the needle and then use it to escape. The gag was a strangely comfortable thing, considering the rest of his situation, it was paddled leather that wrapped about his head. The actual gag portion was a fair sized ball. 

After these realizations he wasn’t that surprised to find himself naked but that was the least of his worries. Whatever had been put inside him really worried him. He didn’t feel any pain, really, which may or may not be a good sign. It could just mean he’s still drugged. He worried that whatever it was would somehow kill him in some perverted way.

He pushed down the panic and tried to think it through. He’s still alive so he’s not done with him yet. The IV means he wants to keep him alive. No pain could mean drugs but he can check that easily enough. He worked his hands against the cuffs until he felt a shot of pain from his skin starting to break. 

It was clear, not dulled pain. So, he’d not been given pain killers. 

He did realize he felt somewhat sore around his ass but otherwise it didn’t feel like anything major had happened. He hadn’t been cut open and sewn back together(which was his real fear).

Other, older injuries still throbbed slightly, which he found almost comforting.

He’s in one piece. That’s the important thing. That means he still has a chance to escape and survive. 

Could he escape like he was? He already knew the latches on the trunk would hold. Any sort of movement by his legs jostled the thing inside him causing him to shudder. It wasn’t a bad feeling so much a strange. The thing pressed in places that felt good if Arkin moved just right then if he moved to far in another direction he’d feel a painful stretch. 

Gradually, he realized the thing was smooth metal, it had some kind of stem on it to keep it from falling out. 

Arkin made a frustrated sound around the gag. He couldn’t do shit until the freak came back and opened the trunk. He gave the side of the trunk a frustrated kick and groaned almost immediately. That kick made the thing press just right to send a jolt of pleasure through him.

Why the fuck would that masked freak _do_ this?

Well, Arkin thought he knew that answer. It was because of what happened in the shower room just days before. Now the man liked him in a way Arkin really didn’t want to think about. 

But then, he thought, maybe he could use it against him? Play along, be a good little toy and take the first opening he can get. How could he do that? This guy seemed to like Arkin precisely because he fought him. _Because I got hard when he cut me,_ a traitorous little voice in his head reminded him. 

What was the man hoping for, leaving him like this? 

Then it hit him. He wants to fuck him. He’s stretching him out. He wants to fuck him and he wants Arkin to _like it._

_Shit._

He could still do this. 

He just needed think about what he’ll do when he gets free. What he’ll do when he can finally get back at this guy. How to hurt him. Humiliate him. Make him feel everything Arkin’s felt. Yes, that’s what he needs to think about. 

Think about taking a blade cutting into the man’s skin. Marking him. Keep him chained and helpless. Tease the blade across his skin so he never knows where the next cut will come from.

Arkin realized distantly that he was breathing heavy over these thoughts, that he was rocking his hips, that he had gotten hard. Where before it would have shocked him into stopping, this time, it was encouragement.

He’d make him get off on it. He’d make him _thank him_ for every injury. He’d make him regret everything he’s done, he’d make him sorry and he would make him beg for punishment.

A strong shiver went through Arkin as he realized he was very close to coming without even being _touched._

Just then, heavy footsteps sounded outside the trunk. Arkin froze in place, expecting the the lid to be torn open at any moment. 

Nothing happened.  
Faintly, he heard something being done to the handle outside the trunk then to his shock, the D ring released. Two soft clicks followed, the latches on the trunk being released. 

For a long moment, Arkin didn’t move then slowly he pushed his foot against the lid, opening it a crack. Bright light filtered through the opening, as his eyes adjusted, he saw the man walk away from the trunk. Strangely, the man kept his back on the trunk as he did something on a table on the other side of the room. 

The room itself was startlingly clean compared to where Arkin was usually kept. It had some furniture, old and worn but not _ruined_ like he was used to seeing. He saw no obvious signs of traps.

Cautiously, Arkin pushed the lid open further. 

The man glanced back to the trunk for a brief moment then returned to what he was doing.

Arkin took that as a signal he could leave the trunk without risk of evisceration. He gingerly pushed the lid open fully and creeped out. He didn’t try to stand, that thing was still inside him. Though his hands were still cuffed together he had some freedom of movement, so he reached up felt the straps of the gag. A bit of fiddling later he was able to unbuckle a strap and tear the thing off his head. The gag hit the floor with what seemed like an unearthly loud clatter but the man didn’t turn or look back. 

Seeing no reaction from the man, Arkin glanced down to the iv in his arm. He bent and pulled the needle free with his teeth. Next, he tried to get a good view of the lock on his cuffs. The needle might work on the lock. As he was considering just how to deal with the cuffs, the man turned. Arkin recoiled on instinct. Something bad would happen. Something bad always happened when his full attention was on you. 

The masked man started to walk towards him, reflective eyes fixed on Arkin. Arkin inched away on the floor, lowering his hands in an attempt to remove whatever was inside him. He wouldn’t have a chance in a fight or even a struggle with that thing still in him. 

The man tilted his head, as if curious, and halted three feet away from him. The man crouched, pulled one of his knives and looked at what Arkin was doing. A low sound, almost like a growl, left the man when Arkin’s fingers found the metal base of the thing inside him. Arkin’s fingers froze in place when he heard the sound.

“...okay,” Arkin breathed unevenly and moved his hands away. Of course he didn’t want him to take it out. Fine, okay. He’ll play along. Even if he got it out he wouldn’t get far with the man in the room.

The man seemed to relax, pleased. The knife returned to its spot on his belt. A brief moment of calm then the man reached out and seized Arkin’s chin, forcing his thumb into his mouth. Arkin put up a meager struggle, already realizing what he was doing. The needle. He had tried to hide it in his cheek. Now the man forced open his mouth and pulled the needle free. After extracting the needle, the man ran his gloved hand gently down the side of Arkin’s face, almost as if petting him. It was a strange short lived moment before his jaw was released.

“Fuck,” Arkin muttered after, lamenting the loss of the needle but also to curse himself for taking a moment’s pleasure in a gentle touch.

The man watched him curiously for a moment, reflective eyes tracing downward then coming up sharply to meet his eyes. In a startling fast move the man grabbed Arkin’s wrists and hauled him to his feet. His cuffs were soon hooked to a chain on the ceiling. Arkin tried to fight by throwing a kick but he was hit with a strange jolt of pleasure when it jostled the thing inside him. He groaned, losing his footing. He expected a sudden strain to his shoulders to follow as they took his weight but instead he felt a hand pressed to his chest and another on his hip, steadying him back on his feet.

Arkin couldn’t even begin to try to understand why. The man did strange things on whims, this was no different. What Arkin needed to do was to think about how he could use it against him and not _why_ he did these things.

The man parted from him briefly and returned with a long metal bar. The bar had cuffs on either end and it wasn’t hard for Arkin to figure out what it was for. “No fucking way, man,” Arkin growled out, “You’re not putting that thing on me.”

The man simply canted his head to the side then swung the bar like a bat, hitting Arkin across the stomach. Arkin nearly retched from the strike, his body tried to curl in on itself, to offer some meager protection. While Arkin was still reeling from the strike the man started to fix the cuffs to Arkin’s ankles. Despite the pain, Arkin tried to struggle, tried to kick him away, tried to use the bar against him.

“F-fuck you,” Arkin gasped out. His struggles accomplished only one thing, his legs were now up on the man’s shoulders and bar was behind the man’s head. The angle wasn’t right for Arkin to smash the bar against the man’s head with anywhere near the right amount of force.. He was _stuck._ Exposed. Worst of all, he was starting to get hard again.

One of the man’s hands traced over the red line where he struck him. The action made Arkin gasp. Then experimentally, the man pushed two fingers into the reddest part of the line. Arkin groaned, his back arching, the thing inside him pressing. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Arkin groaned out. 

This seemed to amuse the man who lowered his head, opened his mouth and placed a lick on the tip of Arkin’s cock. Arkin jerked in response, struggled then threatened: “I’m gonna fucking tear you apart!”

In some bizarre way, the man took this as encouragement and started to tease his tongue and lips along the shaft. Arkin shivered, his body enjoying it far too much. He _shouldn’t_ like it. This man was a fucking serial killer! He tortured and killed people! 

“I’ll hang you up by those goddamn hooks!” Arkin found himself saying aloud, “I’ll fucking _make you_ talk!” The man paused briefly, glanced up and _smiled._ A moment later, the man wrapped his lips around Arkin’s cock and sucked.

Arkin choked on his surprise. _This_ could not be happening. A distressed sound left him before he had time to stop it. It only got worse when the man pushed against the thing inside him. An intense flash of pleasure washed over him and he cried out, almost the same sound he would make if hurt.

“I’ll fucking kill you…” Arkin groaned out. It was less forceful than his previous threats. Before he could even consider threatening further his cock was sucked fully into his mouth. All he could do is choke on a gasp of air.

The man sucked him and rocked the thing inside him as he did. Again, that traitorous little voice encouraged him to enjoy it. After all the pain, Arkin deserved pleasure.

He shook, tears of sensation streamed down his cheeks. Too much. It was too much. His hips moved into it of their own accord. 

Orgasm hit him in a rush, like it was being ripped from him. His vision blacked. 

Next he was aware, those reflective eyes were shining right in front of him. The area around the mouth of the mask seemed damp and for the first time, Arkin noticed the man’s mouth. It was wet, his tongue ran over his lips. He noticed the man’s gloved hand next, white showing in stark contrast on the black. He realized what it was.

The man’s hand smeared it over Arkin’s lips. Without thinking, his lips parted and his tongue tasted it. The man seemed pleased, producing a low hum of approval.

Arkin hated himself for, even momentarily, feeling satisfied and even good over that approval. He tried to cling to the idea he could use this against the man.

The snap of a rubber glove drew Arkin’s attention back to the man. For the first time, he saw the bare flesh of the man’s hand. His hand came up and stroked down the side of Arkin’s face then his fingers settled on Arkin’s lips.

They felt warm, alive and very real. Arkin’s tongue slipped out and traced over the pads of one of those fingers.

The man’s eyes closed and his head tilted back.


	4. Basic needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Care and feeding of your Arkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took far too long and is embarrassingly short for what it is. I still plan on more. No real smut in this chapter. Warnings for drowning.

Arkin woke slowly, for once, he felt comfortable and he didn’t want to ruin it by waking up. It was a smell that finally drew him to consciousness. _Food._ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. _Had_ he eaten since he was taken? 

His memories were a blur. He had no idea how many days he’d been captive. It could have been a week or months, it felt like an eternity

Moving slightly, Arkin was shocked to discover he wasn’t in the trunk. He had slept in a ball regardless. Another puzzling thing was that he was laying on something soft. Not soft enough to be a bed, however. Gradually becoming more aware of his surroundings he realized he was laying on a mat, like those used for dogs.

His vision was blurry, from what he hoped was due to a hungry worn out body rather than some sort of damage to his vision or more drugs. A dark blob moved on the far end of the room. As the blob came closer the smell of food grew stronger. For a moment, his heart leapt at the thought of food, only to sink a second later when the dark blob coalesced into the all too familiar shape of the masked man.

Whatever was going to happen next, Arkin decided, he would hate it and then hate _himself_ for. With the smell of cooked food so close he realized he was more than willing to do anything to get it. 

To his minor relief, his vision slowly cleared. Almost unconsciously, Arkin started to push himself up from the mat. His eyes shifted from the man to the plate he carried. It was cooked meat, beef it smelled like(oh god, he hoped it’s beef.), potatoes and carrots. 

As hungry as he was, Arkin didn’t dare move more than inches at a time. That food, he hoped, was for him but with it still in the hands of the man the thought of reaching for it seemed about as sensible as putting your hand in a pit full of vipers.

The man crouched a short distance away, setting the plate of food down on a dingy floor. With two fingers he gestured to Arkin then the food. So… the food was for him? But that had to be some kind of trick. What if it was poisoned? He wouldn’t put it past him to poison him just for kicks then dangle an antidote just out of reach.

Apparently sensing Arkin’s hesitation, the man picked a piece of meat from the plate and brought it to his own lips. The man made a show of eating and enjoying it. That, for some reason, did not sit well with Arkin. He couldn’t quite figure out why.

The plate was still too close to the man for his comfort. It’s then he realized he’s never willingly approached him before. Not in a way that wasn’t an attack. The thought made him grit his teeth.

 _Fine,_ he thought. It was no use trying to understand him. He’ll just jump through his hoops and the man either kills him or he doesn’t. He could kill him just as easily for sitting still.

Arkin inched forward, not bothering to stand or even crawl on his knees, sliding on the floor. The plate was just a few inches out of arm’s reach. Keeping himself low to the ground seemed worlds more sensible and safer than standing.

Much to Arkin’s surprise, the man didn’t pull the plate away or impede him in any way. Once his fingers touched the plate, he slid back with the meal, as far as he could get and the man didn’t stop him.

Ignoring the filth on his own hands, Arkin picked up a piece of meat and ate. So long without any food made it seem almost heavenly. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes as he ate. Even the potatoes tasted astoundingly good, he doubted they were actually that good, it was just his body starved for calories.

So eager to eat, Arkin had nearly finished the food before he realized the man hadn’t moved. His reflective eyes watching Arkin intently. It was unnerving and abruptly killed what remaining appetite he had left. Setting the plate aside, Arkin inched back from the man and got his feet under him.

Dizziness hit him as soon as he tried to stand. His legs gave way under him and he stumbled back to the ground with a groan. A jolt of fear hit him, maybe the food was poisoned. Maybe… “What--What did you…”

He felt something dripping from his head. _Oh, god, what if he cut open his skull? And that’s why he..._ Hesitantly, he raises a shaking hand to the source. He felt only damp and dirty hair. His mind slowly pieced together the reality. He was sweating. He felt _hot._

Trying once again to get to his feet, he was surprised to feel an arm over his shoulders and another on his chest. The masked man was… helping him up?

“What--” he tried to ask but found his throat dry.

“Shh,” was the only reply from the man. It was like he was trying to be comforting. Arkin didn’t even try to understand that. He wasn’t sure he could even if he wanted to.

He didn’t bother resisting when he was led to a wooden table and urged to lay down on it. Arkin just coudn’t find a reason to care what happened now. He was poisoned or drugged and probably about to die. It didn’t matter any more.

Something soft was placed under his head and it took him a disappointingly long time to realize it was a pillow or something rolled to be a pillow. He couldn't help a laugh. _Now_ the freak shows concern for his comfort, he must really be about to be killed. The snap of rubber gloves gets his attention but oddly, it’s the man removing them. That… didn’t seem right. He must be changing them before he cuts him open or something. Yeah, that makes sense.

The man’s bare hand pressed against Arkin’s forehead. It took Arkin a moment but he realized what was going on. He had a fever. Was that it? He was _sick._ He can’t help another laugh but it comes out as more of a choking sound. It would be the way to go, getting sick and dying and never giving the bastard the satisfaction of killing him himself.

Arkin becomes vaguely aware of the man doing something. Feeling his clothes, is that what he’s doing? No, no, he’s looking for something. “Hey…” Arkin rasps, getting his attention, “Fuck you, man.” Then the world went dark.

Cold suddenly jolted Arkin back into consciousness. He thrashed instinctively, cold, cold couldn’t be a good thing. A heavy weight settled on his chest which stilled him long enough to get his bearings. He was in a tub. Of ice water. He was naked but that really felt like the least of his worries. The masked man loomed over him, one hand holding him down in the tub.

Arkin tried to speak but he was shivering too much to get words out. Was the monster trying to make him freeze to death. The water was so cold it hurt. Hell, everything hurt but that was nothing new. It was more than enough of a reason to try to get the hell out of the tub, even if the man was right there.

His arms and legs felt surprisingly weak when he tried to move. He groped numbly at the edge of the tub, his fingers refused to work right. He was left doing little more than flailing pointlessly. He felt panic rising as the man needed to only put his hand on Arkin’s chest to keep him there. Left with no options, Arkin groped at the man’s arm trying in vain to pull himself out of the water.

Arkin hardly noticed that the man barely moved through all of his flailing but that all ended when he got a firm grip on the man’s arm. He realized his mistake a second later. “No! Please--” he managed to cry out before the man pressed down and plunged Arkin’s head under the water.

The cold water burned his throat. Oh god, he’s going to drown. He’s killing him. This is it.

He trashed in the water out of instinct, struggling and trying to find the surface. He had been scared of death before but this time it was pure panic. He couldn’t think. He needed air. He’s going to die. He’ll never see his family again. He’ll never escape. Oh god. He’s going to die. He can’t breathe. 

His vision grew dark, he was on the verge of unconsciousness. He… was… going to die here. _I’m so sorry, baby. I tried… I tried,_ he thought of daughter, her mother whom he’ll never reconcile with now. He was supposed to…

The next thing he knew he was coughing up water on a cold tiled floor. He… didn’t kill him? He didn’t know if he should feel hope or despair. 

He couldn’t muster the strength to struggle. He felt himself being drug across the tiled floor. His chest felt tight, like he still couldn’t get enough air, but he was breathing.

He felt a strange warm weight envelop him and it took him a surprisingly long time realize what it was. 

_A blanket._


	5. Addicted to Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings: live dismemberment (forced to watch), cock and ball torture, non-con, caning, uncomfortable bondage**
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> The one thing you never want is a serial killer to like you. You want it even less when he decides to do something nice for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long fucking time but I hope this offering makes up for it. Thanks for all the patience and I hope you enjoy! (didn't bother to beta too excited to get it posted. i'll edit things later. )

Everything was a blur. Snatches of sensations and images. His mind drifted. He had gotten sick, he knew that much, perhaps sick enough to be killed outright.

Blearily, he wondered why death seemed like a viable option. There was a reason but he couldn’t focus on what it was.

Was he in hospital? He must be. There was an IV. Gloved hands on him, gentle hands. A quiet soothing voice. Someone stroking his hair. The smell of disinfectant. A warm heavy feeling of blankets layered over him.

Some part of him thought it wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t be in a hospital, that part told him. It told him it was impossible and something was terribly, terribly wrong.

For the most part, he had trouble caring. Maybe everything was wrong. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because he…

Because he _failed._

At some point he started to feel lighter, his mind less fogged, his limbs more responsive. It was when a dark shape coalesced into a man in a black mask that he realized where he was. He didn’t have the energy to be outraged, instead he groaned, rolled on his side and curled in on himself. Rather surprisingly, there was a pillow he could bury his face into.

Though his mind was clear, very little made sense. He found himself missing the world his mind constructed while clouded. It made more _sense._

He felt the man stroke his back, as if to illustrate the insanity of the situation. A crazed murderer refusing to kill him and instead trying to comfort him. Was he that much of a mess that a monster felt _pity?_ Was he too broken to kill?

The distinct staticy click of an old television turning on caught Arkin’s attention. He couldn’t help but turn to look. Numbly, he wondered if the monster intended to show him news reports of his disappearance. It seemed like the sort of thing a sick fuck like him would do.

Taking in the rest of the room for the first time, Arkin wasn’t that surprised to see it looked like a room in some abandoned hospital. Cracked and peeling paint on the walls and medical equipment from at least fifty years ago. The only relatively new thing in room was the bed and the blankets that covered him. He found his arms free but not his legs, they were strapped to the bed.

His attention was brought back to the television when the man inserted a tape. It began to play and Arkin’s heart sank.

It was the bowling alley. Where he last saw his family. The video was shaky but he could make out-- God, it’s them. His wife and daughter.Oh, God.

“No--” Arkin croaked. His voice rough from disuse. If he’s… Renewed anger welled up. “If you’ve fucking touched them I will rip out your fucking throat!” Arkin pushed himself up on the bed and started trying to get his legs free. He’s going to kill that fucking bastard.

The masked man stood just out of reach and appeared completely unconcerned. He moved to the television, tapping the screen to draw Arkin’s attention back to it.

The video shifted to a view of the parking lot. A group of shady looking men were gathered around a van. It took a few seconds to register. These men were armed. They had to be the ones Lisa owed the money to. Jesus Christ, did the monster really go out and _film_ Arkin’s worst nightmare? That--

The video stabilized as the camera was apparently set down. A canister is thrown from behind the the camera and landed in the center of the group. A gas cannister. Smoke filled the screen.

Arkin froze just staring at the screen and trying to make sense of it. The man’s now familiar silhouette moved into frame then into the smoke. He heard the muffled sounds of struggle on the tape. He… wasn’t going after his family…?

So intent on the screen, he didn’t notice the masked man had moved until he touched him. On instinct he thrashed and tried to attack him. It didn’t last long. The murderer got him in a chokehold from behind. The masked man had moved on to the bed for a better angle, which kept Arkin’s back pressed firmly to his chest.

He could easily cut off his air at any moment but instead the man was using the hold to force Arkin to look at the television. Arkin was tempted to squeeze his eyes shut just to spite him but he had to know.

Arkin forced himself to relax against him, the easiest way to tell him he wasn’t going to fight him without admitting it. Still, the man held him firmly in the hold all the same.

Attention back on the screen, Arkin found he hadn’t missed much during his struggle. The smoke was clearing, and there was the masked man tazed the last of the group. Without hesitation, the man loaded the bodies into their own van. Arkin couldn’t tell if they were alive, he supposed it didn’t matter, if the man was taking them they’d be worse than dead if they weren’t already.

All loaded, the camera was retrieved and everything cut to black for a second. The next image he saw was from inside the van’s cab. It was recording out the passenger side window.

A new dread started to well up in Arkin, it was still the bowling alley. His wife was closing up for the night, their daughter standing there with her. Oh god, she still had her bear.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Arkin suddenly demanded, struggling once again. Infuriatingly, the man calmly shushed him while tightening the chokehold. Arkin could still breathe but now it was a struggle and he tried to pull the man’s arms away.

His wife’s voice: “Yes?”

Arkin couldn’t bear to look.

A soft and strangely familiar male voice: “Be careful on your way home, ladies. I saw some… unruly men hanging around. They took off when I pulled in.”

Arkin looked.

His wife stood near the van, she looked weary and stood herself between the van and their daughter. “Thank you for telling me,” his wife finally said with caution. Their daughter peeked out from behind her and smiled shyly.

“Have a good night,” the male voice.

And just like that the van pulled out of the parking lot. Arkin choked in disbelief. He must be playing with him. He’s going to fucking kill his family.

As the van drove away the camera was moved to point back toward the parking lot. Arkin saw his wife and daughter get to their car, start it and drive off into the night. Nothing happened. No sudden explosion. Nothing.  
Why is he doing this to him?

Arkin hadn’t realized it but tears had been running down his cheeks. He only noticed when the man tried to soothe him again. “Fuck you…” he muttered weakly. He can’t take this. Whatever _this_ is.

The screen went black. A second later a new image appeared. It showed a room that Arkin was sure was somewhere in this hellhole. He held his breath, expecting to see his family in pieces.

What he saw were the men from the parking lot and what he heard was screaming.

“Why the fuck are you showing me this?” Arkin demanded, throwing all his weight back against the man. He was firm and unyielding behind him.

On the screen, it showed the murderer slowly torturing one of the men. Far worse than anything he’s done to Arkin. Then the bone saw came on screen and Arkin squeezed his eyes shut.

The meaning of the video, wasn’t completely lost on Arkin, it made sense in the twisted way. The sort of sense he was trying ever harder to ignore. It _can’t_ be what it looks like. It just can’t. He shuddered against the man’s hold, no longer struggling but unable to take in what was happening.

He--He couldn’t have known those men were after his family but then why did he tape it?

God, the tape was still going. He could still hear the tinny screams through the bad speakers. Why is he showing it to him? To scare him? To show him how close he got to his family? Was it a threat?

His own cries snapped him out of his thoughts. The man wasn’t hurting him directly and had long since loosened the chokehold. It was a cry of frustration and… relief. His family was safe, for now.

The cries devolved into sobs and at some point he turned and cried into the murderer’s chest. At the moment, how much he hated the man didn’t matter. Everything was too much and just having someone’s arms around him was a relief.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that but by the time the masked man got up, the video had long since ended. Arkin stayed on the bed, his ankles still chained to the end of it. He felt exhausted, things still didn’t make sense but it was less crushing. He curled himself into a tight ball and tried not to think.

The masked man left the room momentarily and returned with a rolling surgeon’s table. Arkin didn’t care to look to see what was on it. Something horrible, probably. _Maybe the same tools he used in the video,_ part of his mind suggested.  
The murderer stood over him with his strange reflective eyes. Arkin turned slightly to look up at him.

“Are you going to kill me?” Arkin asked softly.He could swear he saw a smile under that damn mask. He wasn’t sure why but he then asked: “Are you going to fuck me?”

Did those reflective eyes just falter? For just a second, the man seemed uncertain. Maybe Arkin was imagining things.

“Do--” his voice caught, “Do you want to?”

The man took a half step back and seemed… embarrassed? No, that not right. _Uneasy._ He’s not imagining things.

“You already sucked my d--” he was cut off by a sudden blow to the head. How could _that_ touch a nerve. It was the truth. With a growl the murderer seized him by his hair and pulled his head back uncomfortably.

“What? Didn’t you like it?” Arkin choked out stupidly. _That was a mistake_ he thought a second later. Before he knew it the masked man was manhandling him and strapping him face down to the bed. A bar was slipped under his stomach, ropes at either end of it were then attached to something above him. Soon the bar dug into his midsection as it was raised.

And raised.

It left Arkin bent over it. He tried to struggle when he realized what was going on but that just made the man tug it violently upward.

Arkin groaned, his body was stretched in an A shape. Hands and feet chained to either end of the bed while his weight was centered uncomfortably on the bar. It left his ass high in the air and made him suddenly, vividly aware he’d been in a hospital gown. Somehow that made him feel more exposed.

This time, Arkin was smart enough to keep his mouth shut about the man. He’d pissed him off enough. But that wouldn’t stop him from grumbling, “ _Fuck._ Ow. Stop!” under the strain.

The man seemed more relaxed now that Arkin was restrained the way he was. He hit the break on the hospital bed and moved it to the center of the room. The bizarre swing he had Arkin in jerkily followed a track in the ceiling. Arkin had a few terrifying moments of the bar pulling him back as the bed moved in the opposite direction. It left him choking and struggling to breathe.

“Fucking bastard,” Arkin mumbled under his breath. Then he felt something, the man had wrapped something around the base of Arkin’s balls. Other than feeling tight it didn’t hurt but that didn’t stop his growing alarm. “What the fuck--”

The man held up a small weight on a short chain.

“Oh, fuck. Please don’t. _Don’t!_ ”

Even expecting the sudden weight tugging sharply on his balls made him scream in pain. Worst of all, the way Arkin was bent, he could see the weight swinging between his legs. In horror he saw a black gloved hand reach out and give the chain a tug. A new pain exploded and Arkin retched.

He couldn’t even think, let alone realize the man’s hand slick against his asshole. He didn’t notice until something large was being worked against his ass.It wasn’t the murderer’s dick, thankfully, though some tiny part of him was disapointed. That part of him didn’t get a say right now.

New shots of pain, less intense, came from whatever it was he was pushing inside of him. It felt huge and something he couldn’t take. He was begging within seconds. In reply, the sadistic murderer _squeezed_ his strained balls. All Arkin could do was cry out.

Whatever the monster was working against his ass sunk in completely. It was a sudden, sweet relief as the man stopped abusing his balls at the same time. He was sobbing and didn’t care about the throbbing pain, at least the sickening sharp unbearable pain was gone. He could only cry and pant.

He’d lost track of the man until something hit him - hard - right across the ass. He couldn’t even tell what hit him, he just knew the parade of new sensations it caused. His body rocked with the blow, the thing in his ass rubbed against something that felt startlingly good, the weight swung and pulled at his balls.

What was used to hit him became apparent when a cane rod pushed up against his chin. Of course the freak wanted to see his face like this. “Please…” Arkin moaned pathetically.

The man tilted his head then turned and hit play on the VCR. He had rewound the damn thing. Hearing the video start to play made Arkin choke on his sobs.

Soon, the cane came down hard against his ass. Again and again. Each strike causing an explosion of conflicting sensations. Pain out weighted pleasure but he had started to get hard. Around the time the screams started on the tape, he was hard.

As if on cue, the cane struck up against his belly then again, right across his erection. To Arkin’s astonishment and horror, the blow to his dick did nothing but make it _harder._

“No--!” Arkin choked. “Oh, God.”

To his minor relief, the bar across his belly slowly lowered. The weight on his balls eased off when it touched the bed. Soon he was laying face down, bleeding slightly from the cane and sobbing uncontrollably. Oh god, the cool sheets against his dick shouldn’t feel this good.

It didn’t last long, the man got on the bed behind him. He released Arkin’s wrists and drew him up by the hair. Much like how they were when he first saw the video, his back was flat against the monster’s chest.

The man was pointing to the TV, he wanted Arkin to watch. When Arkin closed his eyes tightly, the man reached down, grabbed the chain still connected to Arkin’s balls and pulled up. After a sob filled scream, Arkin got the message. He forced his eyes open and looked to the TV.

He wished he hadn’t. On screen, he saw the man dismembering someone alive. The second he looked away his balls were tugged violently again. _Fuck._

He forced himself to look, but this time he focused his eyes on the edge of the screen. He could still see the horrors peripherally but they were mercifully less clear.

It was good enough to please the monster who, very suddenly but very softly, spoke. “Good boy,” cooed against his ear. Arkin had to fight back a new round of sobs.

Trying to keep his eyes focused to avoid more abuse, he didn’t notice the man’s hand moving to Arkin’s dick until he felt it. God, why was he still hard? Did the freak drug him or something?

He shuddered so strongly at the touch, he thought his teeth might rattle. His eyes flicked away from the screen for a half second then hurriedly back. It thankfully went unnoticed, if only because the man seemed more concerned with jerking him off.

Arkin felt sick as pleasure began to rise up, he wanted to ignore the video and the screams. The higher the pleasure began to build, he couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes.

Maybe it was the man’s idea of mercy that he looped the chain through one of his fingers as he jerked him off. Now, Arkin’s balls only felt a tug when the man decided to play his fingers over the head of his dick. That was something he apparently loved to do.

A shock came with the snap of a rubber glove and the feeling of flesh on flesh. Arkin nearly came right then. His eyes opened and he looked down in disbelief. The freak’s bare hand worked in long strokes over his dick. Moaning despite himself, it soon felt like he was going to come again, but it was cut off with a sharp tug on his balls. For a second, Arkin felt disappointed.

His balls felt terribly heavy despite the abuse, but every time he was close the chain was tugged and it stopped him. Oh god, what was he trying to do to him?

Hating himself, Arkin started to rock his hips. The need to come became ever more urgent. He was whimpering and whining each time he got close.

“ _Please…_ ”

So close then a tug pushes it back.

“Oh god. Please...! Let me--”

A painful tug pushes back.

“Please...:”

The man’s hand moved down and roughly groped his sore balls.

“Let me cum…” Arkin whimpered pathetically.

His balls were released and the hand began to slowly and firmly stroke his dick. His fingers felt amazing, squeezing in just the right places. What finally drove him over the edge was the man’s: “ _Shhh…_ ”

He came so hard, so completely, his visioned blacked and his body convulsed violently. The man kept milking his dick, making him spill more cum than he thought possible.

The tape had long since finished.

Arkin gasped helplessly for air as the man smeared Arkin’s own cum over his chest. That hand ventured further upward and wrapped around Arkin’s neck.

Arkin’s senses had yet to fully return but he felt something. He could feel the man’s dick through his clothes. It was hard. A smile started to creep across Arkin’s face. Maybe it was the endorphins or this strange feeling of gratitude he’d been trying to ignore. In a way, the murderer protected Arkin’s family.

Lazily, Arkin ground back against the killer’s dick. “Are you going to fuck me? You can, y’know.”

Jesus, he just gave a fucking serial killer permission to fuck him.

But…his family is safe.


End file.
